Safe Haven
by Hint of a Melody
Summary: Police officer Willow Austell suddenly finds herself held fast in the claws of the epidemic that swept across the globe, surrounded by constant death and decay. There is seemingly no place that is fully protected, safety disappeared along with humanity. A troubled man may be the only person able to help her find that small thread of hope to hold onto again. (Eventual Daryl/OC)
1. Chapter 1: Breaking at the Seams

** A/N: This just to happens to be my first shot at writing a fic based off of The Walking Dead. Just a quick reminder; I do not own any of the fantastic story line from the show, only the OC. I'll apologize in advance for how short this chapter is, I promise it'll get better. **

**Reviews are greatly appreciated, enjoy! **

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Chapter 1: Breaking at the Seams.

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Willow was slowly jolted awake, unwillingly grasped by the cruel hands of reality, pulling her back to the present. The world was a clouded blur of shapes and objects, whirling around her vision in a pallid haze. She blinked in a subtle attempt to usher away the foggy areas that muddled her sight, her brows furrowing together as the sticky breeze brushed against her pale skin. The first thing she noticed was the sky, blanketed in a faint orange hue, informing her that it was late afternoon, though the date remained unknown. It was then that she noticed the snapped twigs digging into her bare arms, the feeling of a pounding headache thumping against her temples, the burning agony relentlessly tearing through her torso.

She let out a faint hiss as she warily propped herself up on her calloused elbows, sending another wave of raw pain through her frail chest. The burning flames licked down to the tips of her tarnished fingertips, causing warm liquid to spring in the back of her stinging eyes. Her gaze flicked across the area that surrounded her, hastily familiarizing herself with the dull setting. Parched soil kept her firmly rooted to the spot, and crisp, dry leaves scattered the barren dirt. Trees stood guard around her, towering several feet off of the ground, blazing sunlight peeked through the gnarled branches, drawing intricate patterns on the forest floor.

_What am I doing here? _

The fatigued girl used the rough bark of a nearby sapling to hold her steady, ignoring the aching spasms spreading through her veins as she hoisted herself into standing position. Scrapes and bruises graced her petite frame, and she found herself biting down strangled cries tickling the back of her stale throat as she took a single step forward. Willow yanked loose the buttons of her beige overcoat, revealing the blood stained tank top that was hidden underneath. At one point, the thin article of clothing seemed to be white, but now, all that she could see was the deep crimson that had soaked clean through the fabric, all manifesting from what seemed like a deep bullet wound that punctured the fragile surface of her stomach.

Her old police uniform hung from her malnourished limbs in tattered, torn pieces, giving her whole appearance a disheveled aura. She couldn't remember how long she had been there, more importantly why she had been sprawled in the woods in the first place. The only memory that she could muster was back at the station in King County, during the times when the epidemic was a measly undertone of gossip.

_Willow stared blankly at the small television resting on top of the flimsy wooden table, shaking her head with a low scoff at the scene blaring from the screen. The reporter prattled on about how the dead were seemingly walking, roaming the streets in a mad scramble for a taste of delicate human flesh. _

_"I'd have to see it to believe it," Rick muttered, raking a large palm through his slightly tousled hair. The man's voice held a thick southern accent due to being a native of Georgia, a thin layer of stubble adorned his sharp cheekbones, azure irises alert and on the ready, as always. _

_"I second that notion," the rookie muttered, unruly orange locks falling over her worn complexion. She had only been an officer for a mere half a year, still being trained in the techniques of firing pistols, coached on how to handle relentless criminals, and even small things such as how to lock and unlock handcuffs. _

_A video that seemed to be taped from a cheap cellular device suddenly flashed onto the screen. It was a recording of a human stumbling down an aged street, only, if you took a closer look, you could just make out the large chunks of bloodied muscle hanging from its bones through the unclear haze of the foggy lenses. Deep, guttural moans escaped its ghastly lips, the poor individual holding the phone let out a disgusted cough, gagging at the what seemed to be the foul stench of the creature. It was then that the two law enforcers realized that whatever this thing was, it certainly was anything but human. _

_They forced themselves from the unbelievable report as a loud knock vibrated through the trivial space. Their gazes eventually settled on Shane, whose knuckles were resting firmly against the slick concrete walls, which were coated in a pale alabaster paint. _

_"Time to head out." _

The gruff policeman's voice faded off into the distance, that being the last part of the flashback she was able to recall. She couldn't help but wonder if the outbreak had worsened, or if the illness had ceased to exist altogether. Surely the government had the ability to put a stop to it? Willow immediately forced away the much darker thoughts that threatened to surface from the recesses of her troubled mind, running a clammy hand through her oily locks. She grimaced as she realized how long it had been since she had showered. Her skin pricked with the persistent need to allow the warm water to wash away her worries, her devastating theories. Only, if the globe was as broken and battered as she thought, a good cleansing was the least of her problems.

Her fingers instinctively clutched the holster attached to her belt as she heard a loud shuffling ring out from behind her, shattering the eerie silence that had coated the area beforehand. Whoever, or whatever was toppling through the brush seemed to be horrible at masking their movements. Thin branches broke beneath the heavy soles of their shoes, the loud noise echoing through the heavy quiet every few seconds. She winced as her nine millimeter colt let out a high-pitched click as she turned the weapon off of safety, blinking as everything suddenly became uneasily still. Even the low whistling of leaves scraping together seemed to be hushed to an abrupt halt.

Willow carefully spun around on her heel, finding herself suddenly face to face with the loaded barrel of a gun, poised and ready to shoot if provoked. Her gaze slowly dragged upwards, and once her quivering eyes finally locked on the looming figure who stood in front of her, whatever courage that she had left all dissolved, landing in a broken heap at the crumbling walls of whatever self-control had previously remained within her.


	2. Chapter 2: This Broken World

**A/N: First off, I'd like to apologize for how long it took for me to get this out, I was busy gathering my thoughts into what was going to eventually become this chapter. :) I don't have much else to say except, of course, enjoy! Reviews would be super awesome, I want to make this story as fun to read as possible, so it helps bunches.**

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Chapter 2: This Broken World

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The second that Willow heard the shrill sound of the man's gun being clicked off of safety, she dug the back of her heel into the rough dirt, ungracefully flinging herself around. She ignored the sharp sting of branches and leaves smacking against her cheeks, nearly stumbling over tangled roots spread across the dense forest floor as she ran. The weight of the smoldering Georgia sun beat down on her, unwillingly slowing her movements.

She heavily leaned against the uneven bark of a tree, her chest heaving in short, choppy rasps. It could have been a measly trick of the light, but she could of sworn there was a menacing glare hiding somewhere within his ignited irises. Even now, as she weakly supported herself on a rickety sapling, the sight of the memory flashing through her mind sent chills prickling across her skin.

The former policewoman was so engulfed in her troubling thoughts that she hardly noticed the wet, throaty gurgling noises that were steadily closing in on her. Willow's thin frame tensed as she heard heavy stumbles tromping through the dense thicket of brush, snapping twigs and loudly crunching leaves.

That was when she caught sight of them.

At least thirty of the pallid bodies were hurriedly stumbling towards her, liquid dripping from their opened mouths at the scent of fresh meat. She nearly gagged at the horrid stench of death that drifted up her nostrils, clogging her previously keen ability to smell. She fumbled with the holster attached to her belt, only, as soon as her clammy palms wrapped around the pistol, it slipped from her slick hands, tumbling onto the ground with a faint _thump. _

Willow felt a jolt of panic roll through her as cold, rough hands suddenly latched onto her frail arms, yanking her backwards with enough power to painfully dislocate her shoulders. She was forced to be held with her spine pivoted at an awkward angle, waves of aching throbs pulsing through her torso due to her lethal bullet wound.

She let out a horrified scream, desperately shoving the dead man's snapping jaw away from the sensitive flesh on her neck. She felt tears spring in the back of her eyes as she realized that she was going to die here, be hungrily slaughtered by an emotionless mass of these _things_. She could practically feel their rotting teeth tearing her to shreds, relentlessly ripping her limb from limb until darkness swallowed her whole. The unstable horde of walkers' yellowed irises gawked at her, so close now, not even a foot away from reaching their mid afternoon meal.

The color hurriedly drained from her worn complexion, leaving her features stained a ghastly pale. She roughly bit down on her bottom lip, ignoring the metallic taste of blood that washed over her tongue. Willow's weakened muscles began to ache, the inhuman strength of the creature causing her hands to quiver beneath the unfaltering pressure.

She let out one last weak cry, preparing herself for the burning agony that was soon to come. Willow allowed the memories of her childhood, of her whole life to surface, the images flashing through her mind as if she were flipping through old photographs. The heart rendering time that she had attended her mother's wedding when she remarried, their small, coordinated house scattered among a large neighborhood, of the short term friends that she had during high school, the cheeky smile of her baby brother. Just as the last shred of her hope was hastily withering away, tumbling barely out of her reach, a burst of adrenaline sparked through her veins. She couldn't, wouldn't die here. She didn't know her purpose in this broken and ever decaying world, but she was okay with lacking that fact.

She would find it, somewhere, somehow.

Willow weakly smacked the walker away from her, bending her trembling knees to snatch the ebony colt from the forest floor before the hungry flesh eater had time to regain its blurred senses. She used the sturdy trunks that dotted the wilderness to guide her on, ignoring the horrible moans of the undead that were undeniably on her heels.

She ran as fast as her shaky legs would carry her, bones aching after every slap of her shoe against the rugged earth. Her knotted locks of hair trailed behind her like matted apricot ribbons, standing out against the verdant browns and greens of the forest.

Willow threw a brief glance over her shoulder, painfully twisting her ankle on a sturdy knot that protruded from the parched dirt in the process. The walkers had distanced themselves some, mauled arms aimlessly raised to the rich odor of living muscle. She clutched the gaping, tissuey hole in her stomach, wheezing as piercing whims of white hot pain festered around the injury.

Soon enough, she found herself crossing paths with a faded highway, scattered with abandoned vehicles as a remembrance of the horrid past. The drained woman had somehow managed to escape the thirsty game of cat and mouse with the herd of biters, sparing her pointless existence. She shakily stepped forward, running her sore fingertips across the overheated hood of a rusted, white Chevy. Her gaze slowly swept upwards, raw shock tying her already flipping stomach into curdling knots.

The assembly line of vans, trucks, and even semis seemed to drag forward for miles on end, all leading up to the faint, hazy outline of Atlanta. She covered her chapped lips with the back of her palm, a sudden realization knocking the wind from her aching lungs once again.

The fleet of cars were facing opposite of the metropolis, turning their sun bleached backs to the clouded city. Every last one of them.

The scene seemed to have been a crazed panic of desperate need to flee the urban community. The corner of a crimson Camaro was firmly lodged into the side of an old pick up, forming a large dent along the front entrance. It seemed to play out the same way throughout the whole column, doors flung open, crusted blood dried on the lackluster pavement.

Willow muttered a light curse under her breath as she pulled her palm away from her chest, revealing a paper thin layer of bright red liquid spread out across the thick skin. She let out a gentle hiss, the sound of a rubbery object toppling onto the cement cascading through the area. She angled her body towards the quiet noise, sucking in a breath so fast that she choked on the sudden intake of air.

Biters, dozens of them, leisurely staggering through the small openings between vehicles, some bumping their frail, bony hips into the nicked metal. She hastily grappled with the handle on the nearest car, attempting to jerk the door open with damp fingers. It didn't budge. She repeated the action, this time with more unrelenting force, nearly collapsing with relief as it swung open.

Willow let out a strangled gasp as a decaying body fell from the front seat, flies buzzing around its spoiling skull. She wasted no time wrenching the carcass onto the road, crawling into where the deceased person had previously been. The smell of death still enveloped the now enclosed automotive, forcing a throaty choke from her mouth.

She merely sat there as the horde passed, weakly cupping her sweating face in her hands, ignoring the terrifying moans ricocheting just outside the glass windows.

And as Willow hunched over in the warm leather chair, she desperately, persistently tried to push away the malicious, worn grimace of Shane Walsh from her thoughts.

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Shane advanced deliberately through the neatly trimmed lawn, throwing a brief glance at the rickety farmhouse as the aged structure came into view. His hand still grasped his trusty silver colt, winded from his unexpected reunion back in the wilderness.

He offered Carl a short wave, the action a measly flick of his wrist. The police officer's gaze unwillingly lingered on Lori, who was hunched over a wooden bucket, retrieving more laundry to hang on the clothes line. Dark, unruly hair fell over her sharp cheekbones, blue eyes stern and focused on the task at hand. He gritted his teeth together, she was Rick's, not his. Shane had recently been forcing his mind to constantly remind himself of that heart wrenching fact, accept the reality that he would never be a part of that family that he so longed for.

He eventually caught sight of Rick, who was flattening out a wrinkled map on the hood of a sky colored truck. The man's jaw was firmly set, the small hook between his thumb and pointer finger thoughtfully cupping his chin.

"Rick," Shane called, his tone gruff and somewhat unwelcoming.

Rick dipped the crown of his head towards the tips of his tarnished shoes, gaze brushing over his former partner's for a few heartbeats, not making any move to speak.

"Got something I need to tell ya," he muttered, comfortably leaning his elbows on the heated surface of the vehicle.

"What?" Rick asked lowly, the words escaping his lips as deep and raspy. He quirked a thin eyebrow as Shane's eyes flicked pensively, almost nervously around the camp.

"I, uh... I ran into Willow today. Saw her in the woods, didn't look so hot..."

"Willow?" Rick spoke slowly, the name forming oddly on his lips due to the lack of saying it for so long. Sudden images of the fair skinned red head bolted across his mind, memories of teaching her the ropes of being an officer, how she struggled with lining the sights of a pistol, the brief time that he had met Stanley, her little brother. "Willow Austell?"

Shane angled his head in a small nod, raking a hand through his lazily cropped brown hair. "I'm pretty sure she was injured, blood everywhere..." He gestured to the lower portion of his chest, as if to prove his point.

"Then why isn't she back here with you?" Rick inquired, his words holding a slight edge of suspicion.

"Turned my gun onto safety and she bolted," he shrugged, attempting to brush off the silent accusation hiding behind Rick's calculating irises.

"Was she bit?"

"Only one way to find out," Shane hinted, tongue swiftly slipping from his mouth to wet his lips.

"We have to go back for her."


	3. Chapter 3: Giving the High Sign

**A/N: First off, I'd like to thank those of you who favorited, reviewed and followed this! It means bunches, gives me that little push to keep writing. I've been having some issues actually typing the chapters out, but I have some evil ideas planned. ;)**

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Chapter 3: Giving the High Sign

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Shane stared over at Rick from behind the corner of the washed out hood, his dry bottom lip wedged thoughtfully between his top and bottom teeth. He knew that the statement was coming, but he still felt as if a hard blow had been dealt to his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs. Willow was alive, he could hardly believe he had seen her, unruly, frizzed apricot hair framing her grimy features. And even after the initial shock resurfaced, no recognition of the hammering to his body showed on his fair complexion.

The former policeman gave the sun drenched metal a rough pat, turning on his heel to head towards the center of the tranquil camp. His gaze was fixed on the quenched soil, forcing himself to look somewhere, anywhere else than Rick's broad frame stalking towards Lori, enveloping her in a brief embrace.

He could still feel the painful yet fulfilling sensation of her fingernails digging into the sensitive skin on his back, the thick strands of grass leaving imprints on his knees. The sound of Lori's faint moans and quiet noises sent silent shudders down his spine, unwillingly recalling the pure blissful feeling of being caught up in a moment of warm ecstasy.

He was pulled from his lustful fantasies as the low sound of scraping echoed around the area, his dilated irises eventually settling on Daryl. The troubling redneck was perched below the gnarled branches of a tree that was set off from the rest of the group by a considerable amount, hacking away at a large stick with a fine buck knife. Shane couldn't help but stare uneasily at the jagged tip of the wood as he approached.

"Daryl," he called, eventually skidding to a stop a measly foot away from the southern man. "We could use your help with something."

He merely scoffed at this, jerking his body at a perceptive angle, facing away from Shane. He continued driving the side of the blade into the dense timber, progressively sharpening the pointed peak.

"We found someone in the woods," Shane paused, taking a daring step towards the hick, brushing off the angered glare he received as a feeble consequence of his actions. "An old friend."

"That ain't my problem," Daryl spoke up, thrusting his dagger at a further point in the knotted branch, peeling the rough skin away from it, allowing the paler wood hiding underneath to show.

"Rick and I use guns, they make a lot of noise..."

"You think I'm an idiot or some shit? Think I don't know how a damn gun works?" Daryl spat, the force he was exerting on the oversized twig steadily increasing.

Shane knew that Daryl had a dangerously short fuse, and if you took one wrong alternative with him, it was the equivalent to loosing your footing and toppling into a field of land mines.

"Look, man. Your bolts are quiet, helps to keep walkers away," Shane explained in a hushed tone, gingerly scrapping his palm over his trimmed mop of dark hair.

"Yeah?" Daryl slurred, allowing a bitter chuckle to sneak past his cracked lips. "You got knives, they're quiet."

"That's not the only reason. You hunt, which means you've got skills with tracking things, ri-"

"You best be haulin' ass outa here, your friend could be gettin' eaten while you're wastin' your precious time here," Daryl intercepted, his words silently beckoning for Shane to let him be.

Shane blankly stared at the hick for a few lingering seconds before pushing himself away from Daryl, slowly heading in the direction of Rick, and, unfortunately for him, Lori. He hardly took the time to notice that it was a nice day out, birds chirping from their perches high in nearby saplings, the unfaltering Georgia sunlight spilling onto the yellowed fields of the farmhouse.

"You ready?" Rick asked, hesitantly stepping away from his wife and son, taking a short moment to ruffle Carl's auburn hair.

"Yeah," Shane murmured, unintentionally exchanging curt glances with Rick's family. He was about to set off into the close-knit thicket of brush when he caught sight of Lori's lips forming the words 'be careful', though, no sound escaped her mouth. He tipped the crown of his head in a meek nod, except, to any curious onlookers, the gesture would seem as if he were dipping his sensitive eyes away from the blistering light that surrounded him. Shane could of sworn he saw Lori's lips twitch in what seemed like a relieved smile. "Yeah, I'm ready."

And so they set off into the crowded expanse of wilderness, beginning their desperate search for their former partner.

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The two of them searched tirelessly for hours, until the land was blanketed in pale moon glow. They took notice of pieces of rough bark that had fallen from the compacted trees, using flickering flashlights to follow trails of what they thought were footprints. It seemed their relentless efforts were in vain, Willow was still nowhere to be found, nothing even hinted at her presence.

"We should head back, man," Shane urged, carefully stepping over a towering root that protruded from the soil.

"We can't leave her out here, she could die," Rick barked sternly, taking caution to make the words form slowly and rigidly on his lips.

"Who's to say she ain't dead already, we could be searching for ghosts, exactly like we're doin' with Sophia."

"You don't know that," Rick quipped irritably, directing a fierce glance Shane's way. His glistening azure eyes shone through the thick ebony of night, an annoyingly peaceful glare hiding within the molten blue orbs.

Shane chuckled sourly. "In a world like this, I still have yet to understand how you've got so much blind faith."

Rick abruptly halted in his movements, his palm shooting up in the air to signal his partner to mimic his actions. The small gesture went way back into their rookie days, and Shane knew that whenever he made that beckon, something real bad was usually stumbling their way, so he braced himself for a world of trouble. But, to his surprise, only a single measly biter toppled from the lush greenery, rotting teeth snapping at the perfume of a beating heart.

Rick easily dealt with the slight disturbance, driving an alligator back knife into it's softened skull with experienced fingers. Shane used that brief amount of time to truly allow their location to sink in, and he felt something shift inside of him, sending bustles of dejavu rolling through his veins.

"It was here."

"What?" Rick voiced, unceremoniously tossing the decaying corpse into a thorny thicket of holly, only, that didn't rid of the pungent scent of death wafting up their nostrils.

"I saw her _here_," Shane voiced again, motioning to the area directly in front of him as if he were standing in the memory of a few hours ago. He bent down, shining the faint rays of his flashlight against a deep gorge that cut into the rough dirt. He tenderly ran the pads of his fingers around the crater, his jaw firmly set. "She dug her heel into the ground before she ran off."

Rick hurriedly squatted, his keen eyes brushing over the sliced forest floor to clarify Shane's claim. "Looks like we've made some sort of progress, come on."

"You're out of your mind, Rick. We've got to get back, have you not seen how dark it is out here?"

Rick spun himself around, coming to stand dangerously close to Shane, pointing a finger to his temple as if he was willing the gruff man to think. "She could be _dead _right now, Shane, _dying_. Willow is an old friend to both of us, if she was just an acquaintance, sure, I'd leave her behind. But since that isn't the case here, there is no way that I'm giving up so easily, not after we've found a clear trail to follow."

He stared pensively after Rick as he took a few steps forward, not bothering to look over his shoulder to see if Shane would follow. He let out a cold chuckle, leisurely starting after his friend.

Dry, cracked leaves crunched beneath the heavy soles of their shoes, the noise cascading around the otherwise silent area. The boisterous sound of crickets chirping filled the two law enforcers' ears, and in an odd sort of way, the familiar noise was comforting. Rick willed the blurred memory of him laying on his old sunken mattress with Lori to surface, recalling he and his wife laughing because those damned bugs wouldn't shut up.

"Seems like she didn't go down without a fight," Shane commented lowly, referring to the shredded walkers lining the worn path in front of them.

"Who's to say she went down," Rick snapped, the statement brushing off as more of a desperate plea than a question.

Shane merely scoffed at this, the throaty noise sending a wave of frustration itching just beneath the skin on Rick's chest. Over the year and a half that the world went to shit, he couldn't help but notice a sudden shift in his ex-partner's behavior. The dark headed man now carried an angered, almost haunting demeanor trailing behind him nearly constantly. Rick couldn't help but wonder if the thick aura ever burdened him, put unwanted weight on Shane's shoulders.

Rick sucked in a breath through his nostrils as a shrill noise tore through the silence, weaving through the dense, towering trees that surrounded them. It was a high-pitched, terrified scream, and though the howling, ear shattering sound was faint, they knew it could be coming from none other than Willow. Unrelenting fear pulsed through him so fast that his knees began quivering, quakes of adrenaline shuddering through his veins.

"Shit!" Shane hollered, clumsily bellowing through the mossy greenery towards the horrified wail. He narrowly missed toppling over the decaying corpse of a biter, allowing a thick string of curses to slip past his lips.

Rick immediately started after him, panic spreading through his body like a budding wildfire. He ignored the sharp stinging sensation that spread through his left cheek as a rugged, thorny branch broke through the sensitive skin, blood slowly clotting in the shallow cut.

"Shane!" He called, frantically searching for him through the looming darkness that had enveloped his partner. "Dammit," he paused, attempting to stick to the stomach curdling trail of rotting carcasses. "Shane!"

He felt a subtle burning sensation gnaw through the bottom of his foot as his shoes roughly smacked against concrete, hardly noticing the sudden change in terrain. Rick fumbled with the switch on his flashlight, painfully choking on the bile rising in his throat as Shane's paled features flashed directly in front of him.

"Reminds you of the old days, don't it?" Shane muttered bitterly, clapping his palm against Rick's fabric clad shoulder.

Before he had the chance to tell Shane to focus on the task at hand, another desperate shriek clawed through the air, this time sounding more like a rabid battle cry. The ringing of a walkers' head being hacked off resonated towards them, the leathery thud of dead flesh hitting the concrete beckoning them forward.

"Willow?!" Rick hollered, floundering his way through the cluttered maze of vehicles that lead towards the sloshing, wet slams of brain matter splatting onto the moonlit streets.

She didn't utter a single word, only the mangled gurgles of the undead remained.

The two former policeman reluctantly approached, expecting to come face to face with the torn body of their old comrade. A pair of cold hands heaving Rick backwards broke both of them from their worrisome theories. Goosebumps pricked down his spine as wet, matted hair rubbed against his neck, the deep moans of hunger were so close now, so deafeningly close. He mentally prepared himself for pure, molted red agony to sear through him, but it never came. It took his mind more than a few lingering heartbeats to process that Shane had hurled a blade through the walkers' skull.

A slurred 'thank you' caught on the tip of Rick's tongue, suspended in the air between them like a quivering drop of water struggling to fall from a leaf.

The small, struggling frame of Willow sat sprawled across the rocky highway, the dead man hovering above her snapped its mangled jowls, pallid flesh drenched in pale, eerie alabaster light.


	4. Chapter 4: Smells like Disaster

**A/N: Thanks again to those of you who favorited, reviewed, and followed this this! It motivates me to keep writing during every spare moment that I get. I'm currently juggling two stories at the same time right now, maybe even three soon, so I apologize for the delay on getting these chapters out. Also, I have plans to make this story long, so another apology goes out to the slow pace of the plot. Enjoy!**

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Chapter Four: Smells like Disaster

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Willow let out a subtle wail as a long string of bloody saliva dripped onto her grime caked cheek, lifting the walker's mutilated body from her own with trembling forearms. The animated corpse's weight bellowed down on her, causing a fit of numb pricks to spread across her legs. Her bullet wound was relentlessly throbbing, sending waves of flaring agony ripping through her chest like a stinging slap to the cheek, forcing her senses to stay keen and awake.

She didn't bother crying out for help, the former policewoman was fully aware that there were no living, breathing individuals conveniently placed nearby to scramble to her aid. Only the groaning horde of biters remained, the deep sound of them choking on the thin bile that had risen in their throats resounding through the havoc struck highway. She knew that more of them were coming, the sheer amount of the mangled creatures was a number that did more than a fine job of informing her that she was tragically outmatched.

Her arms were beginning to burn as if an ignited lighter was being dragged along the area just beneath her skin, sending a clutter of drumming pain resounding all the way to the tips of her elbows. She had already witnessed first hand what it felt like to have your life flash before your eyes, the panicked event had happened just mere hours ago. She was reliving that moment now, the torn pieces of flesh gorged from the walker's cheeks barely brushing over her jaw, rotting teeth clapping together at the rich scent of fresh meat. She was again twisted into a situation where they were so close, so very, very close to ending her life, desiring to absentmindedly torture her until Willow's last shallow breath wafted from her nostrils.

A question swept across the depths of her mind, the ferocious flames enveloping her weakened muscles and the hopeless feeling clutching her conscience clouding her better judgement. Willow's perspective from just earlier on that day abruptly flipped, corroding itself into something else entirely. What if she were to just... let it happen?

Willow braced herself for the relentless pain, muscles in her throat constricting as the strength she had possessed in her arms curtly faded. She forced her fingers to remain curled around the walker's frail wrist, attempting to make herself feel as if she put up a worthy fight. The rest of the dead man's body weight collapsed onto her, causing a faint howl to unwillingly slip past her lips. Willow squeezed her stinging eyes shut, wriggling beneath the leathery, cold skin that was pressed against her body. She knew what was coming next, the ripping, the tearing, the shredding. The agony.

The pressure that was enveloping her petite frame was suddenly lifted, leaving a light, airy space hovering just above her. Brain matter slapping against the pavement could be heard over the muffled haze clogging her ear canal, filling the area with vulgar, gummy sloshes. Her irises snapped open, the brisk night air slamming against them. It was dark everywhere that her gaze lingered, she couldn't even manage to distinguish the faint silhouette of her hands above her face. Willow had to question whether or not she had passed over to the next world, drifted past the border of her reality and into another.

The burning fire persistently erupting through her torso answered her inquiries. She was alive, somehow, she was still breathing. A blinding light flashed across her vision, the pale beam dilating her previously large pupils.

"Willow?" A voice called out to her, the vibrations faltering at the edges, useless echoes weaving through the silence. "You alright?" She felt a rough palm gently slap against her cheek, willing her back to the present. Slight murmurs were being exchanged in the background, and the dazzling brightness flicked off, leaving her cascaded in the thick darkness once again.

The deafening sound of a gunshot sent her crashing back into the current events, the loud noise leaving a shrill ringing in her ears. She immediately bolted upright, sending a wave of agonizing throbs through her chest. She felt a few apricot wisps of hair sweep across her face, itchy against her chilled skin. Looming outlines of people stood before her, and from the looks of it there only seemed to be two. The shady figures had broad shoulders and tall frames, which automatically informed her that they were male.

She didn't dare say anything, the duet of men were strangers to her, they could mean her harm. _Harm_. The word echoed through the depths of her mind like a demonic, twisted chant, pieces of memories sliding themselves into place like shards of broken glass. _Harm_. What did that word mean to her? Why did it hold such a wicked demeanor? Just as the blurred scenery was about to turn into a distinct, sharp image of the past, the glass shattered, leaving her enfolded in a dense expanse of cluelessness.

Her cracked and dry lips parted, except, when she tried to speak, no words escaped past her throat. The only sound that came was a subtle whine, cracked short due to a lack of fluids essential to human survival. It was then that she vividly remembered them calling her by the name of Willow just moments before, they knew her name.

They knew her.

"Willow?" One of the strangers grumbled, sending an unexpected wave of dejavu trembling through her. A light shifting could be heard, and a sudden presence could be felt directly in front of her after the action had passed. "Hey..." The man muttered once she seemed to be coming around, his expression morphing from stern to sincere, only, the contortion couldn't be seen in the blackness. "How are you feeling?"

"Who-?" She managed to choke, the brief statement leaving a slight tickle at the back of her mouth.

A quiet snap could be heard, and a face enveloped in artificial lighting flashed into view. The man had sharp, tanned features and thin scruff that spread over his cheeks, a head of neatly cropped dust colored hair, and full lips that were currently compressed to a thin, troubled line. Her gaze hauled upwards, coming to rest on a pair of pure sapphire eyes that resembled the color of the sky on a clear day, but it was the familiar determined, hopeful glint hiding behind the irises that struck her. It was the moonlit glare that glazed over them, the righteous spark that caused her to mutter the dire words, "Rick...?"

"And Shane," an accomplished haze flickered across Rick's pupils for a short heartbeat, reaching out to grasp her shoulder in a reassuring shake. Willow gawked at him, the relief in her eyes nearly as shallow as her strength, unable to fully process emotions due to the turmoil ramming against her skull.

"Promise I meant you no harm earlier, turned my gun onto safety and you hauled ass out of there like you were gettin' chased by wolves," Shane teased, but the only word that she heard was harm. There it was again, back to torment her, run in circles around her mind, not allowing her to possess the key to the bolted gates of her past.

All that she could offer was a weak nod, unable to summon the energy to laugh. She knew the light hearted heaves in her chest would leave pain licking around the bloodied edges of her bullet wound, anyway. She could still feel the dry, crusted crimson liquid from the injury coated on her palm, rubbing against the night clad street.

Darkness was beginning to fester around the sides of her vision, thick, black tendrils pulsing beneath her weighed eyelids. She reached out a gentle hand to cup Rick's shoulder, a slight attempt to hold herself steady. She heard more slight mumbling behind her blurred hearing, and felt the subtle jolt of being easily lifted from the ground. She was suddenly looking at the scenery around her from a different perspective, taller now, staring at the tips of her scuffed shoes with pained eyes. The soft press of fabric caressed her sides, and the warmed skin of the two mens' necks seeped onto the revealed skin on her arms, which were firmly slung over their strong shoulders.

"Where are we going?" Willow sputtered lowly, breath growing short and raspy due to the quaking, sharp-edged throbs rumbling through her veins.

"Someplace safe," She faintly heard Rick's soft voice answer, in his usual deep, somewhat comforting tone. At times, the rhythm and flow of his words reminded her of the reassuring statements of a therapist, though, that thought wasn't always the nicest to recall, especially at a time such as this. Willow immediately pushed the uneasy theories away, Rick was a good man, she knew that.

Willow figured the world was broken and battered enough already, and the last thing she needed was false information guiding her through each reality shattering day.

* * *

During the tedious walk back to the farm, Willow found herself often drifting in and out of consciousness, relentless throbs thrumming against her temples. Her dragging feet slid across knots twigs that crowned the earth, chalky dirt spreading across the front of her shoes as they tenderly tugged her along.

"Almost there," Rick muttered, the slight grasp he had on her briefly tightening at the grateful thought of their return.

Shane remained silent, hurriedly trudging through the dense greenery, intent on his goal of reaching the camp by the time the orange tinted sun tipped the thicket of trees.

As the three of them broke through the line of dense, tightly packed wilderness, the pale light of morning was just beginning to whiten the previously shadowy sky. The chipped alabaster paint of the aged house blended with the grays and ivory colors of the horizon, verdant grass neatly trimmed, as always. They stalked around the towering side of the wood paneled structure, eventually tromping to the large front lawn.

Willow felt countless pairs of eyes on her, watching her every movement like a hungry hawk ready to swoop down to snatch its prey. She was beginning to feel nausea curdle her empty stomach, able whims of the uncomfortable feeling spreading through her throat, leaving a foul taste in her mouth. The disarming agony ripping through her torso was beginning to overwhelm her, along with the sticky aftermath of the persistent Georgia sunlight.

The former policemen continued to hastily trudge along, gingerly heaving their close colleague with them. She attempted to regain her footing, nearly slipping on small rocks that had been torn from the strong hold of the soil, casting whipped and loose dirt askew the ground. She let out a faint cough, sending another wave of nausea crashing through her insides.

Except this time, the relentless feeling didn't stop there. It tumbled upwards at such a fast pace that she hardly noticed the tips of muddy, scratched up hiking boots planted just in front of her face as she lurched forward. Her body racked with small lunges and jerks as she emptied the contents of her stomach, leaving a burning sensation prodding at her throat.

Willow's gaze dazedly drifted upwards, her sight muddled due to the effort of throwing up the bitter, yellowed fluid. A tall, muscular man towered over her crouched frame with a seemingly permanent scowl plastered onto his features. That grimace was scrunched up even more so at the acidic liquid that now covered the top of his faux leather shoes. He wore an orange plaid shirt with the sleeves torn off, revealing decently toned arms, and loose fitted, sun bleached jeans. An onyx crossbow was lazily slung over one shoulder, a large hand grasping the firm handle of the weapon with unbudging fingers.

The gruff man let out a frustrated huff and started off into the woods, attempting to rub some of the vomit from his feet onto the long, healthy strands of grass.

"That there's Daryl, guys got a constant chip on his shoulder, best you keep away from him," Shane forewarned, keeping his soft brown eyes trained on her paled complexion. He attempted to tug her back to her feet, but her legs refused to budge, planted there like two ton bricks. Rick had already excused himself to go and converse with his family, reassuring them that they all got back in pristine condition.

The dark haired man lifted her onto his sturdy, fabric clad back, carrying her up the creaky steps of the porch and into the musty farmhouse. She found herself shutting her heavy eyelids, the world surrounding her abruptly switching off to an unfaltering ebony. Her feet dangled at either side of Shane's narrow waist, her whole body churning while he rounded every sharp dip or turn the interior had to offer.

"Hershel!" She heard Shane holler, the loud words booming through her ears, causing the aching in her forehead to relentlessly pound.

Willow unintentionally let out a small whine, the pain spreading through her chest pricking at her like a throbbing, irritable mosquito bite. Footsteps tromped down the ancient staircase, the strides steadily growing faster as the person laid eyes on the two of them.

"What happened to her?" A raspy voice called out to Shane, words worn down and shaken with age.

"Gunshot," The gruff man answered, careful to keep Willow's limp frame from sliding off his now slick back, wetted with the dense crimson substance leaking from the gaping hole in the read head's ghastly skin.

"Lay her down on the bed, we don't have anesthetic, so we'll have to make do without. And we have to perform the procedure now, she's lost too much blood..."

The elderly man kept on barking out stern orders, the firm statements fading into the distance of reality while her mind took over her body, immediately calming her unsettled nerves. The cold press of bed sheets could be felt against her arms, sending an almost unnoticeable trail of chills quaking down her spine.

The last mutter that Willow managed to hear over the comforting lullaby willing her into the safety of sleep was something along the lines of, 'or she'll die'. The three dire words loudly echoed through her stuffy head like beating drums, soon faltering away from her conscience as meaningless whispers.


	5. Chapter 5: Striking Chords

**A/N: School has been cramming my schedule lately, with my Final Exams coming up and all that jazz. So, because of that, my opportunities to write have been limited, sadly. Except, I tried to make this chapter longer for those of you who are reading this. Enjoy! And please, post a review if you're able! They make my day.**

* * *

Chapter 5: Striking Chords

* * *

Willow was entangled in that dreary expanse of black where she wasn't quite awake, but could feel herself slowly being grasped by the icy strands of reality, steadily yanking her forward. Soon enough, she became aware of the now warmed folds of the bedding wedged beneath her shirt and the mattress. The tired girl twisted in her sleep, the slight, painful pulses erupting in her torso slowly dragging her back into the current day.

Pale light filtered through the yellowed curtains hanging from the medium sized window, drenching the rustic bedroom in a golden hue that mingled with faint alabaster. She leisurely lifted her quivering fingers to wipe the sleep from her jaded irises, putting pressure on the closed eyelids for more than a few long seconds.

Willow blinked away the rest of the blurred debris corroding her vision, feeling relief sweep through her veins as the objects surrounding her turned to sharp and distinct shapes. Her wary gaze flicked around the area, gradually, and ever so carefully heaving herself onto her elbows.

"Careful," Someone warned, the hazy movement of an outstretched arm flashing in the corner of her vision.

She glimpsed at the figure poised in the chair next to her bedside, he was sprawled there lazily, legs slightly parted, sleepily holding his cheek in place with dry, slightly cracked knuckles. Rick's lips curled in a groggy smile, one that hinted that he had been rooted to the same spot for quite some time now.

"About time you started coming around," he slurred lowly, scratching at the thin layer of stubble that scattered across his chin with a humorless laugh.

"How long was I out?" The dreary woman asked, surprised at the fact that she was so easily able to find her own voice. Willow scraped a few irritable strands of fiery locks from her pale cheeks, previously glued there by cold sweat.

"Pretty long while, around two days, give or take."

The former law enforcer let out a weak cackle, tilting her head backwards, causing the sharp outline of her jaw to be exposed from the concealment of her dull hair. She angled her skull back to it's normal, more comfortable position, throwing a short glimpse at Rick. She lifted the feathery covers from her fatigued body, peeking underneath the thin sheets for a brief moment.

Through the faint shadows hiding along the edges of the springy, hard mattress, she could make out that her tattered police uniform had been exchanged for a pair of clean, somewhat loose fitting pair of dark jeans and a snug ivory tank top. The tight bindings of a thick layer of gauze could be felt wrapped around her stomach, bundled so suffocatingly that it was a slight challenge to will air from her lungs.

"What happened to you out there?" Rick asked, and after a drawn out moment of silence, he added, "Do you remember anything?"

"We were back at King County, watching that News report," Willow's lips compressed to a thin line at the blank stare that her former partner directed her way. "The one with that thing in it, shredded, moaning, scary," she willed him to remember, but when no recognition glinted in Rick's eyes, she prattled on anyway. "Shane comes in, tells us it's time to head out to catch some drug scandal in action. Next thing I know I'm in the middle of nowhere, tossed out in a forest with a bullet wound to my stomach."

"King County... That's the last thing that you..." Rick dragged his palms down his face, an action that shed light on the fact that he was stressed and more than a bit abashed. "Things have gotten worse... There's no government, hardly anyone alive anymore. I was lucky to come across this group, got holed up in Atlanta, trapped in a tank. One of the people here helped me to escape, I owe him my life."

"Looks like both of us have been through Hell and back, huh?" Willow teased, though her lightheartedness was in vain. The room was still sticky and claustrophobic with the twisted and gloomy reality of what the globe had come to.

"You could say that -"

Just as Rick was about to continue on speaking, the door suddenly swung open and Shane appeared looming in the tall threshold, wearing a smug expression on his worn features.

"Thought I heard talking in here," he muttered, his footsteps thudding against the wooden floorboards as he approached his two comrades. "How you feeling, rookie?"

Willow couldn't help but smile at the fact that he was still calling her by the nickname that he had branded her with during the time that she was being persistently mentored. It had started as a mere joke, a teasing intimidation to urge her to line the sights of a pistol correctly, or even a measly playful encouragement after a long day's work, but it seemed the title had stuck.

"Fine," she answered swiftly, tapping the pads of her fingers against the chilled cotton fabric of the bedsheets. "I never got the chance to say how glad I am that both of you are alive, figured that you'd of kicked the bucket awhile ago."

"N'aw, men like us don't die," Shane's statement had started out clownish, but his demeanor turned solid and stern only a mere second later, staring at Willow with seemingly soulless auburn eyes. "You can count on that."

She brushed off the foreboding that she felt prodding at her insides, and instead took the opportunity to yank the two of them into a rather disgraceful hug, releasing them nearly as quickly as she had pulled them to her.

The redhead may have been thankful that her close friends were alive, but she wasn't quite sure what to expect about the rest of Rick and Shane's new companions. She couldn't push away the unending nervousness pounding across her self control, threatening to take over her will to take a meek step outside and familiarize herself with the strangers awaiting her.

* * *

Willow painfully smothered a choked wail from the base of her sore, scraped throat, gently dragging one foot from the wooden threshold of the farmhouse. She used the weak panels of the rickety structure for wavering support, cautiously pushing herself forward. Weak pulses were drumming beneath the gauze that stifled her mid and lower torso, resulting in nearly quenched flames licking beneath the fragile flesh there. She walked at an awkward angle due to the faint pain festering on her scabbing bullet wound, leaning too far over to the right to somewhat ease the uncomfortable throbs.

As she was wobbling down the creaky steps, she felt the sudden warmth of a body poised behind her, and the tap of a palm against her rough elbow.

"Come on, there's someone I'd like you to meet," Rick muttered over Willow's shoulder, brushing past her so that he could take the lead a few strides ahead.

She remained silent, throwing brief glances around the verdant landscape. There was a small patch of sodden earth set off to the side of the chipped and aged house, trees topping the dirt with pivoted and knotted branches covering the small, muddy field. A woman with faded, pained blue eyes and short cropped, graying hair stood by a decaying wooden table, arms folded neatly across her petite chest.

To the other side of the place, a girl around Rick's age with wavy, shoulder length locks that matched the color of the sun was striding beside Shane, a wide smile tugging at her pink tinted lips. She blinked as a sudden blur of movement erupted in the corner of her sight, breaking the sharpness that was previously enveloping her vision. What looked like a lone figure was tromping through the green covering of the forest, a string of squirrels slung over one broad, tanned shoulder.

Willow faintly recalled Shane calling him by the Podunk name of Daryl. A wave of strong embarrassment crashed over her as she remembered her incident with the grumpy man a couple days prior. She pursed her lips for a few curt seconds, stiffening as he swept past her and tossed the line of mammals onto the bench that rested beneath the lumbered table. He strode off towards the brim of the camp, seemingly attempting to escape any lingering group members that wished to speak to the redneck.

She noticed that the aging woman rooted tensely by the table watched him as he strode past, caring azure irises lingering there for a few brief moments before returning back to glaring at nothing, staring off into a void of unknown thoughts and emotions.

"Carol," Rick mumbled, gaze hesitantly drifting from the small patch of trees that he was gawking at and down to Willow. "Her name's Carol," he corrected halfheartedly, his confidence set on wholly on introducing her to the duet of strangers whom she was soon to be acquainted with.

Willow dipped her head towards the small tufts of grass crunching beneath her weighed boots, comfortable shoes that a kind, but curt woman had lent her. Maggie, she faintly recalled the farmer introducing herself by. Willow snapped back into reality as fast as a bullet whipping from its clip, coming around due to the abrupt halt in their movements.

Willow's tired gaze swept upwards until they came across an older girl with high, arched cheekbones and penetrating azure irises, adorning a head of thick brown hair that tumbled down her back in dark waves. A silver necklace toppled across the feminine dip of her collarbone, though, she paid no mind to what was strung around the sparkling chain. Beside her was a young boy with auburn hair that hardly scraped over his shoulders, wearing the same large, molten eyes as his mother.

She was momentarily winded as Rick slung his arms around the tall woman's shoulders, it was then that she caught the faint flash of glistening metal in the corner of her sharp vision. A wedding ring was fit snuggly around her former partner's finger, he wore it proudly, as a silent, reassuring beacon in the ravishing storm that swept across the world. And surely enough, when Willow took the time to inspect the good looking female poised beside him, a simple diamond studded band was slipped around the same finger as Rick's.

"I'd like you to meet -"

"Lori," she finished the statement, feeling embarrassment knot in her stomach as she realized that Rick's wife's hand had been politely outstretched for quite some time now.

Willow hesitantly grasped her palm, feeling odd at performing such a formal gesture in these hard, soul wrenching times. She threw a brief glimpse at the boy huddled by his mother's side, staring at her with curious, perky azure eyes.

"This is Carl," Lori mumbled, gently prodding her son forward with tender fingers curled around his small, child-like shoulder.

"Nice to meet you, Carl," Willow slurred awkwardly, she had never possessed a knack for handling kids well. She offered the young man a faint smile, just a lazy tug of the lips, and he offered her a broad, cheeky grin in return, causing a strange satisfaction to flood through her.

Willow felt suddenly out of place, standing entangled within such a heart warming scene. A separated family, reunited. She threw a curt stare at Rick's fingers brushing against the thick fabric of Lori's white, dirt stained tank top, crossing her arms over her malnourished chest, careful to keep away from the throbbing puncture to her abdomen.

"So, you're all alive," Willow stated the obvious, wincing as her tone came out as somewhat indifferent and monotonous.

Rick offered Willow an understanding smirk, noticing her meager mistake. Lori's expression, on the other hand, turned stony and slightly sour, unable to read her blunder.

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I have things..." She mumbled, tilting the crown of her head towards the rest of the yellowed fields of the farm.

Knowing full well that this was a lie, Lori's mouth tipped upwards in a smile that was void of lightheartedness. "You can take a shower, if you'd like. There's hot water," she mumbled, remaining unmoving even after Rick detangled his arm from her body. "But we're limited, so don't take too long."

Willow's mouth was agape at the thought of warm water cleansing her of her doubts and worries, all being sucked down the drain along with the mud that had clung to her sickly frame ever since she had woken up in the humid woods around four days prior.

She started off towards the house with hastened steps, tangled horizon colored hair sweeping behind her shoulders by the sticky breeze. Willow abruptly skidded to a stop, angled her body towards Lori with a suddenly soft complexion, and said,

"Thank you."

* * *

The door to the bathroom shut behind her with a faint click, the lock quietly sliding into position. The petite chamber was simply decorated with alabaster tiled flooring and homely wallpaper lining the top of the walls, along with a grimy, chipped mirror hanging above the aged sink, and an old shower curtain hanging from a rusting rod.

Willow peeled her clothes from her sore body, wincing as the tight ivory fabric of her tank top dragged along the suffocating layer of gauze. She could see the crimson peeking just beneath the top fold of the thick cotton, the now chilled liquid uncomfortably weighing down on her stomach.

Once she had slipped her jeans from her legs, Willow's gaze had unwillingly found her own reflection staring back at herself in the silver mirror. Now sickeningly yellowed bruises crowned her pale form in some areas, shallow gashes slicing into her tarnished skin. She threw a glimpse at her now dulled green irises, the clouded, pained haze that covered them striking a sensitive chord from somewhere within her.

It was Stanley, her younger brother, her mother, her father. And screaming. Undeniable wails of pure, blazing agony, the wet ripping of raw muscle being torn from its place thundering through her mind. A blurred memory slammed into her skull, pieces falling into place like a missing puzzle.

Janet, her mother, was reaching towards her daughter in a struggled attempt to get her attention, gurgling, bloody words forming on her mauled lips. Her voice came out as a mere breath, a wheezing, choking sound that chilled her to the very core.

"Go." She coughed, letting out an ear shattering wail as the creature's pallid teeth sunk into her neck, reddened liquid welling up around its blued mouth, long trails of the thick liquid dribbling down her guardian's throat and onto the wooden planks that lined their house.

"Go!"

Willow curtly snapped back into the present, world crashing around her like a towering tsunami, the unwanted memories that had just surfaced overwhelming her.

Her family, they were gone. Dead. She couldn't bring them back. She couldn't see them again. The small thread of hope that she had been so desperately clinging on to, the possibility that they were still out there somewhere, was swept away from her like ashes in the wind.

Willow suddenly found it hard to breath, the oxygen that she inhaled corroding her lungs, panic and sadness swelling in her stomach, causing her throat to almost painfully bloat. She helplessly slumped against the wall, holding her face in her now clammy hands. She was unable to cry, the empty feeling sweeping through her system drying out the liquid as if her emotions were fields caught up in a drought.

The sound of the shower head leaking steaming water faded to the distance, replaced by a resolute ringing in her ears that did nothing to quell the grieving that pooled in her system.


	6. Chapter 6: A Twisted Meeting

**A/N: Okay, so, I have a lot to say here. First off, I apologize for the huge delay on this chapter. (I know, it feels like it's been five hundred years since I've updated.) An old friend of mine, writer's block, decided to pay a long awaited visit. I also have a bunch of finals coming up next week, so I've been cramming in some last minute studying. (Excuses, excuses...)**

**And I'm fully aware that this story has been moving pretty slowly, but have no fear, Willow's past is soon to be revealed. (I feel like that was somewhere beyond cheesy.) This will also be on a brief-ish "hiatus", if you will. I'll still update, but it'll take a bit longer to get chapters out. I'd like to finish up my other Walking Dead Fic, "Behind Blue Eyes", so that I can start another story that I've been unfathomably excited about. **

**But without further ado, I give you the next installment. Review, review, review! :) **

* * *

Chapter 6: A Twisted Meeting

* * *

Daryl dazedly leaned back in the flimsy lawn chair atop Dale's RV, gruffly staring off into the starlit night. His crossbow was lazily poised against the old iron rod that served as a leg of the uncomfortable seat, dirt slathered fingertips drumming just above the hole that had been torn through the knee of his loose jeans. His legs were tiredly sprawled out in front of him, heavy boots crossed at the ankle.

The redneck's eyes were practically wailing with the need for rest, fits of sleep deprived stinging coating them. And soon enough, without realizing what action he was carrying out, the grassy fields stretching out before him abruptly snapped into darkness, leaving Daryl feeling suddenly relieved and satisfied.

He remained like that for quite some time, with closed eyelids, but not quite entangled in a deep slumber. The brisk night air still whipped around him, rustling his blood splattered hair. He could still smell the strong scent of exhaust that stuck to the large hunk of metal with wheels, still hear the low sound of tree branches scraping against one another.

But, there was a sudden unfamiliar noise that tore through the nerve easing silence, forcing Daryl to push himself back to complete consciousness in full throttle. The sound was faint, weak, repeating itself in a constant hushed motion. _Footsteps_, he realized, narrowed eyes brushing across the lush landscape until they fixed on a slim figure advancing towards the edge of the farm.

It was a girl with a head of deep apricot hair that was tossed over her small shoulders by the chilled wind, moonlight causing the moist ringlets to glow a faint violet. He could see that her skin was fair, which was odd, what with the blistering sun continuously beating down on the limited group of survivors.

She slowed in her footsteps just a few measly feet away from the RV, arms folded tightly around her thin torso. The unknown woman seemed to be pondering over something, only, he couldn't be sure, considering the only thing that he could see was her fabric clad back facing towards him.

It had to be the newcomer. A large bundle of gauze formed an irregular lump on her stomach, changing the natural form of the tank top along her petite figure. _Top of that, no one has a carrot top 'round here. _

Though he didn't enjoy admitting it to himself, somewhere deep in the broken and battered recesses of his emotions, he hoped that she didn't notice his looming figure rooted above the towering vehicle. What he dreaded even more so than that was the possibility of her making a move to speak to him. He hardly talked to anyone at the camp as it is, let alone strangers with an anonymous name.

Daryl threw a brief, disgusted glance at his sturdy boots, face scrunching up for an almost unnoticeable heartbeat. He remembered her "slight" accident from around three days ago, mouth compressing to a stressed line at the unwanted recollection.

An out of the blue shift in the tumbleweed of grass caused an able whim of disdain to roll through him, a mask of anger immediately concealing any other emotion that could possibly show on his face.

The girl angled her body so that it was twisted towards him, a cold, isolated glare etched upon her doe-like features. A flicker of embarrassment hastily crossed her emerald gaze, but, thankfully, Daryl was seated too far away to notice. Her feminine frame was seemingly shaken, bowed lips pressed tightly together to hold back a pained emotion.

He warily blinked as the faint racket of someone tromping up the wobbly latter that led to the top of the vehicle resounded through the icy, unforgiving evening. The pale, ashen form of Carol took shape before him, palms lightly hugging her waist as she walked towards him.

"Thought I saw you sleeping up here, figured I'd give you a little help," the jaded woman spoke quietly, silently lowering herself into the nearly identical chair grounded beside Daryl.

He let out a low grunt in response, allowing an airy breath to escape through his nostrils. The hick's gaze hurriedly moved from Carol, dragging a large hand over his worn features, ignoring the dampness of chilled sweat on his fingers as he pulled away. He glanced down at the long stretch of greenery before him, tired gaze eventually falling upon the area where the stranger was just standing.

But she was already gone.

* * *

Willow weakly slumped against the mildewy side of the farmhouse, clutching her frigid arms to her chest in a failed attempt to hide herself from the cold. The rough breeze thrashed against her, causing large sections of fiery hair to topple over her haggard complexion.

Willow vigorously rubbed the stinging liquid from her fatigued eyes, the darkened scenery surrounding her blurring for a short moment. She bit back an aggravated sigh, a choked wail escaping from her parched lips as the image of her mother's bloody, mauled face flashed through her mind. It seemed as if the horrifying event had taken place just yesterday, she could still see the mangled chunks of leathery flesh hanging from her family's cheeks, arms, legs, everything just as vividly as she could back then.

She mentally scolded herself, with a reality as demented and shattered as this, she should of expected nothing less. The possibility of finding her family still living, breathing, and leading a life without perilous diseases or fatal injuries was nearly as challenging as locating a single needle in a towering haystack, impossible, unfathomable.

Willow flinched away from the sudden noise that thrummed through her ears, a hiss-like pattern that mingled with shallow crunches, repetitive, constant. A shadow emerged from the hazy fog suspended above the spiked tendrils of grass that densely blanketed the lawn, a looming silhouette with lax posture advancing towards her.

She immediately started off towards the backyard, taking caution to make her strides twice as fast as the figure bustling behind her. The last event that she wanted to come face to face with was a said group member involuntarily coming across her puffy, red rimmed eyes and weakly quivering bottom lip, labeling her too damaged to be of any sort of use.

The former policewoman was ripped from her worries when she felt something rugged, but soft all the same harshly caress over her now bare leg, causing her to nearly trip over the foreign object. (The disheveled girl had rolled up her oversized jeans to her knees in an effort to somewhat ease the unrelenting heat from earlier on that day, except the meek action didn't serve her much justice now, considering the stubborn cold.)

A hasty curse bellowed from her mouth at the accident, a bundle of smooth, ebony rods tipped with jagged points tumbling onto the grassy earth. She raked the irritable ruffs of hair that fell over her eyes away, relieved that the blockage of her sight had been rid of.

"Hell," an unfamiliar southern voice grumbled, annoyance outlining his words like thick venom.

Willow flung herself around just in time to see the faded outline of squinted azure eyes staring back at her, and for a split second, she caught the angered glare hiding beneath the man's worn irises. It seemed as if there was thunder, roiling, but not quite ready to bolt down and wreak havoc on the land. Perhaps it was a python, rearing back its scaly head, caught up in the midst of a deadly pause, the preparation to pounce on its prey with ferocious teeth.

She took a few hushed steps away from him, ignoring the unsettling sensation of moist droplets clinging to the grass splashing over her frigid toes. Her arms circled uncomfortably around her waist as he gathered what looked like lethal arrows from the ground, feverishly stuffing them back into the large quiver in which they came.

"Sorry," Willow blurted, her gaze steadily, almost curiously locked on him.

"For what? Trippin' over my bolts like a damn fool, or hurlin' on me?" He quipped frustratedly, picking up the pace on his nearly frantic gestures, packing away the hazardous ammo that fitted into his crossbow.

She blinked, the realization that his words brought with it hurriedly dawning over her much faster than a legitimate sunrise. The quiet girl remained silent for more than a few uneasy heartbeats, pondering over the intelligent answer for such a malevolent statement.

"So you're Daryl, then."

He merely scoffed at that, slinging the long, spacious holster that housed his bolts over the same shoulder that his crossbow inhabited. Daryl had his full intentions on stalking away without any disregard for the offense he might be throwing in her face, leaving a woman gawking at his backside like that. Merle always told him not to be afraid to "piss off a lady", or so he put it. But, nonetheless, he found himself stopping and glaring over his broad frame, gaze fixed dryly on her.

"Mind givin' me a name or somethin'?" Daryl mumbled, adorning his trademark scowl on his rustic features.

His words were anything but polite, in fact, the inquiry had slipped past his lips sounding rude and inconsiderate, but he paid no mind to it. In all honesty, he was sick and tired of mentally calling her 'stranger' during the very limited times of her slipping past him in camp, so, in the end, it was to his benefit, not out of the practically nonexistent kindness of his heart. The wind stirred around them once again, rustling the bottom of his sleeveless top while sending unnoticeable shivers down his spine.

"Willow," She answered simply, uncomfortably chewing the inside of her already raw cheek.

Daryl dipped his chin towards the moist greenery rooted beneath the soles of his shoes, no recognition of her brief introduction crossing his features. With no words cascading through his mouth, the exhausted grump of a man slowly turned the rest of the way around and tromped away until the night engulfed him.

* * *

Willow drove the keen tip of her knife into the walker's softened skull, grimacing in disgust as blackened blood washed over her hands, leaving a thin trail of deep crimson residue on her fingertips as she flicked it away. She ignored the blazing pain enveloping her with open arms as she walked onward, unwillingly slumping against the jagged bark of a tree.

Stanley's cheery laughter tore through her mind, flooding through the thoughts that rested there like a recently opened wound, throbbing and stinging. She remembered his small hand curling around her middle and ring fingers during brief walks around the neighborhood, clinging to them as if his life depended on it. She remembered the way he would butcher the words "for which it stands" in the Pledge of Allegiance, replacing them with the mistake, "for Richard Stands".

The memories that flicked through Willow's mind brought more agony than even her bullet injury, which she had foolishly torn open while driving her blade into the sodden flesh of a walker. A fresh set of tears pounced at the opportunity to brim her eyes, causing annoyance to roll her stomach. She immediately rubbed them away with the bottom of her palm, blinking away the irritable sensation that the grime and dirt left on her hands brought.

The woman never quite had a normal relationship with her parents, it was by no means dysfunctional, but it was far from the endearing warmth that an average person would feel when around their guardians. Willow talked to them about many things, opened up to them, perhaps more than she should of.

They were seemingly kindhearted, noble people, that unbudging shoulder to lean on whenever anyone needed to mend emotional wounds. Only, that reality spiraled from Willow's reach after her little brother was brought into existence.

"An accident", they called him, a child that they weren't capable of loving. Stanley was branded with the name of a kid with no shoulder to lean on, all except for Willow's. Their parents never threw him away, they cared for him, but not in the same manner that his comforting elder sister did. She practically raised Stanley, taught him wrong from right, aided him in the tedious task of memorizing the alphabet, nearly everything.

Those thoughts, those haunting memories, ice cold and remorseless, don't hold any meaning anymore. They might as well be thrown into a pile to be burned at the base of her conscious, on with the rest of the dread that was continuously strangling her. The world, the cheerful, bright, unpredictable birthplace of humankind, gone. The government dissolved, her friends were mercilessly slaughtered, family ripped limb from limb, her brother forced to share the same fate.

"The hell you doing?" A gruff voice punched through the wall that muffled the scenery surrounding her, sending her hastily spiraling into present day.

Willow's gaze whipped upwards, resting upon a disgruntled Shane, whose mouth had reduced to a small, frustrated line. He stalked towards her, raking his hair back in aggravation and disappointment as his dull irises caught sight of the rose colored liquid soaking through her tank top.

"Clearing out some of these things, figured the less there is, the better," she hurriedly explained, tone somewhat resembling a child caught redhanded in the midst of a measly household crime.

"We call them walkers," Shane deliberately corrected, swallowing down his anger at his comrade acting so childish. _Almost healed, too. 'Cept, she never did quite have her head screwed on straight. Looks like some things don't change._

"Doesn't make a difference to me," she quipped, wiping the balmy liquid that coated her silver blade onto her torn jeans. "Let's head back, getting onto dinner time."

There was a drawn out silence, a dreary, unsettling quiet that caused qualms of restless pricks to probe her insides. Except, not long after, the rough rhythm of Shane's voice resounded through the area, shattering the uneasy tranquility.

"Nah, how 'bout we stay out here for a few more minutes?"

"What?"

"Might as well stay a little while longer, get rid of some of these bastards. You made a pretty valid point, Rookie."

"Not sure about you, Shane, but I could eat a horse right now," Willow daintily explained, pausing in her hushed advance forward to throw an isolated glance his way. "If you want to stick around, have at it."

Shane gave his head a quick shake, rubbing at the shadow of stubble that spread across his chin. Something about her tone was off, a deadbeat among the hazy rasps of her voice. He blinked, finding that his old friend was already striding towards the farmhouse, pace lengthened as if she could sense his worry, feel the questions itching at the tip of his tongue.

"Somethings wrong with you, isn't there?" He called out after her, making no move to stop the frantic girl in her movements as he jogged in an attempt to catch up.

"You're making it sound like I'm mentally ill."

"You knew what I meant, what's eating at you?"

"What isn't, Shane?" She barked, whirling around to face him. "I wake up in a forest in the middle of nowhere with no recollection of how I had gotten there, practically bleeding to death with a giant hole torn through my stomach. Then I come face to face with your dumb ass, locked and loaded, and soon after, I'm accepting death to a walker."

Shane was struck speechless, auburn eyes almost unnoticeably widening. He had always known Willow as a noble, fiery woman with a subtle humor along with quiet tendencies. Only now, the blazing depths of her bottled up emotions were uncorking, searing through her body with seemingly unwavering strength. Everyone has a breaking point, where your self control crumbles away, leaving an over abundance of one particular feeling.

"Then right when I'm starting to feel safe again, at least, as safe as I was going to get, I got a sudden memory of when all of this started. Turns out, my family died along with the world."

"You're not the only one, Willow. More than half of the population had to go through that. Or worse, they wound up being a part of the walker's main course," he explained, now walking in sync with her.

"Talk about sympathy," she grumbled, her airy voice holding a razor sharp edge of humor mixed with an odd combination of hostility.

Shane made no sound at Willow's malevolent words, simply carrying out the mindless task of heaving his foot over a large, ragged tree root. He pondered for a few moments, calmly and collectively, before muttering,

"Let's just try and get through the night."


End file.
